The Ball
The music starts.
I stand to the side. Unsure. Alone.
I am in a deep green dress, the color of your eyes.
Those eyes, sparkling like emeralds.
Those eyes that are staring from across the ballroom.
Those eyes that are making their way to me.
Closer and closer you come.
More and more butterflies crowd my stomach.
Finally, you are here.
You bow, bringing my hand to your mouth, kissing it.
“May I have this dance?” you ask.
The butterflies are so crowded I feel I will burst.
“Of course.”
You take me by the hand, pulling me to the center of the room.
You wave to the orchestra.
They start the music to my favorite Waltz.
I cannot contain my smile.
You put one hand on my waist, the other taking my hand.
I do my part, and the dance starts.
We glide across the floor, in perfect time with the music.
The other dancers, along with the rest of the ballroom, fade away.
There is only you and me.
We dance on and on, each moment a thousand years.
The music becomes quiet, barely able to be heard.
We are now outside on the balcony, truly alone.
You pull me close into a hug.
Together, we sway to the faint music playing from inside,
Bodies intertwined, nearly as closely knit as our souls.
I rest my head on your chest, closing my eyes.
You rest your chin on my head.
“I love you,” I mumble to your heart.
“I love you too,” you return.
The moment is perfect, never to be broken.
Copyright © Sam Swallow | Year Posted 2023
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